


Countdown

by phix27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 11:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phix27/pseuds/phix27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten separate moments in time that weave a story of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

**Author's Note:**

> This is in Harry's point of view.

Ten.  
A heartbeat beneath your hands. Strong and steady. Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Slow down, speed up. Constant. And that would never, ever change.  
Nine.  
Trip, slip, glide, slide. Fingers over warm skin, over a chest that rises and falls regularly. On tempo except for a moment when his breath stutters.  
Eight.  
Warm breath mingles between two people. Yours is his and his is yours. Is that love? Being so close your breath mingles and you don’t mind because you want to merge into one being?  
Seven.  
Hands on hands. Rough and large against smooth and small. Guess which ones are yours? The answer might be surprising. But his fingers curl around yours and a thumb rubs against the back of a hand. And he feels safe. You feel safe.  
Six.  
There are beautiful eyes looking at you. If you could wax poetic, you would sing praises to those eyes. But that’s not your place, so you keep silent. And watch as those eyes close as you go to kiss them.  
Five.  
Crash. Sparkling shards, sharp enough to cut. You want to touch but you don’t because the show is still going on. With biting, angry words and harsh posture, you can tell this is going somewhere.  
Four.  
Fists pummel flesh. His, his, his, never yours. But he is harsh and bites and kicks and screams. He was always one for drama. But not you, you are a peacemaker. So you try to stop it and it all  
Falls  
To  
Shit.  
Three.  
He leaves but you know this isn’t the end. You sit down with your head in your hands. You don’t know what to do so you laugh and it comes out high and trilling. Nervous. And then you snort at yourself in disgust.  
How long this will last, well, you don’t know. You never know with him. And that’s why you love him.  
Two.  
Weeks. That’s how long it takes before he comes back. You don’t go crawling after him because one, that’s not really your way and two, you don’t know what you’d say if you did. You were never one for words.  
So when he comes back, standing on your doorway getting soaked in the rain, you do the only thing you can think of. You kiss him.  
In his kiss, you can taste rain, fresh and beautiful and the curry he had for lunch and regret and a wish for forgiveness and a million other things you can’t possibly name because you head goes blank when he kisses you.  
This is love, you realize. It was everything you’d ever wanted, in the package you hadn’t.  
One.  
He doesn’t apologize, but then, he never does. But he does rest his head on your chest and give you a kiss, right over your heart. You take that for what it’s worth and run your hand through his hair. And then you kiss him and it tastes like perfection.  
It tastes like dreams and happiness. Like future fights and future forgiveness. It tastes like ten, twenty, thirty years from now.  
A heartbeat beneath your hands. Strong and steady. Ba-thump. Ba-thump. Slow down, speed up. Constant. And that would never, ever change.


End file.
